I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the branches; Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous leaves of dark green,And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself; But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves, standing alone there, without its friend, its lover near?for I knew I could not; And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,And brought it away?and I have placed it in sight in my room; It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them;)Yet it remains to me a curious token?it makes me think of manly love; ?For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space,Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a lover, near,I know very well I could not.